Broken Smile
by Mirus Infidus
Summary: During the worst of times, we must find some ray of hope, if only we can gather the courage to look for it. /post-disaster fic, ambiguous relationship


In our darkest hours, in our toughest times, in what's to become the worst of our memories, there must be a beacon of light: something to bring happiness and a sense of calm or normalcy to us.

For many Tokyo survivors, Go was that beacon.

In the city's wreckage, one building stood miraculously nearly untouched: the Touya Go salon. Not ten months earlier, the Meijin had bought the entire building and had turned it into a Go sanctuary.

Now it was merely a sanctuary.

People stumbling carelessly through the broken city were drawn to the salon. Inside, survivors young and old quietly played Go. Winning or losing didn't matter; people would play the familiar game just to play.

The son of the shop's owner, as unharmed as the building, shuffled about quietly, bringing hot tea to the survivors. He smiled at a girl whose left arm hung uselessly at her side as she put a stone down, but she was lost in the game and didn't return the gesture. The sixteen-year-old boy shrugged and approached three people sitting around an empty goban. "Would you like some stones?" he asked quietly.

An old woman looked up at him, but said nothing. Bandages were wrapped around her head, old bloodstains turning brown. As she studied the boy's face, her visible eye softened and she gave him a shaky smile.

Another woman coughed. "Young man," she said. The boy looked at her. She tried to say something, but broke into a coughing fit. Covering her mouth with one hand, she pointed towards the board with the other and mimed placing a stone.

"We'd like some stones," the third person, an old man, explained. The boy nodded and left to get them.

Most of the patrons were silent. The clack of stones reminded him of the many games he'd been part of or had witnessed, and he was filled with nostalgia. In the back of his mind he wondered if he'd ever be able to play Go with the same force and seriousness that he'd used to, but he drove the thought away. He had survived; he had to accept that.

Opening the closet, he pulled out two goke, one with black stones and one with white. When he brought them back to the group around the empty board, the old woman was still smiling warmly. He smiled politely in return, but something in his heart tore. "Nigiri," the old man wheezed. As the woman pulled some stones out of her goke, the boy's breath stopped.

Would he ever have an opponent worth playing again, the boy wondered. Had his youth been wasted chasing the dream of playing Go now that everyone he'd looked up to—his rivals, his mentors, his idols—had likely been crushed underneath monstrous debris?

The pitiable group playing before him reminded him of former players—ones he would certainly never see again. All his former peers in the Go world, everyone he held dear, were gone. His rivals, mentors, idols—and friends had disappeared.

The boy already knew this, but he bit his lip to quell the stinging in his eyes. It was selfish, he knew, to feel sorry for himself. He wasn't one of the broken victims like the little girl or the old woman. He still had his family's property, his health, and his life. He was one of the most fortunate victims of the disaster—so much so that he kicked himself for using such a word as victim.

So, why did he feel he had been abandoned? It was foolish; all those he missed were gone forever. No one had any choice. He hadn't truly been abandoned.

All the same, he felt alone.

"Young man," a voice said from behind him. He turned around to find man in a suit beckoning to him. Half the man's face was swollen and bruised, and his breathing was audible. He held one hand to his chest, slowly moving it up and down. The boy approached and tried to smile; the man widened his mouth, as close to a smile as he could come without wincing. Seeing the man genuinely try to smile made the boy shameful; here was this man who couldn't smile but still wanted to, whereas the boy could but didn't want to.

"Yes?" the boy asked quietly, crouching down so his face was level with the man's.

The man gestured across the goban to his opponent, a tough-looking man who had bandages wrapped around the end of his right knee, where his lower leg used to connect. The boy swallowed. "May we have some tea?" The man's voice was raspy, quieter now that the boy was closer.

Nodding, the boy returned to the closet, where he had absentmindedly left the tray of tea. He returned, handing a cup to each player. He couldn't bring himself to look down at their game.

"Thank you very much, young man." The raspy voice sounded truly grateful. The boy was struck by how polite everybody was, despite their hardships and the tortured states in which their minds undoubtedly were. Again, he was ashamed.

He nodded, smiling a little more, and stood. Taking a shaky breath, he started back towards the kitchenette to make more tea. As he was walking, he heard a voice, smooth and clear as a bell, speaking gently across the room: "There are nine stars on this board. They are like stars in space. And when you put down a stone, it's like adding stars to the sky."

The boy stopped in his tracks. The voice was quiet, yet to his ears, powerful. Hope started to build inside him; for that, he dared not turn around. He would only be disappointed, he knew. It was too much to hope that the one person for whom he'd been most despairing was here.

The boy told himself to keep walking, but his legs refused to obey. He remained glued to the spot, staring straight ahead. Without realizing it, his breath had quickened. He told himself to cut it out, that he was being stupid, but no matter what, he didn't move, just listened to the voice as it sailed across the room.

"With all the stars you're adding, you're creating planets and galaxies," the voice said.

The boy was losing his grip on the tray. Just as it was about to fall from his hands, he tightly grabbed it, reality shooting through his brain like a bullet. He shook his head and walked to the kitchenette. Putting a pot of water on to boil, he could still hear the voice; the inevitable disappointment he'd feel, though, when he turned around to find that the speaker was complete stranger would crush him, so he just stared at the pot.

"You're creating the universe."

The familiar voice was sounding louder and louder. He wanted to turn around; he wanted to see just one more time the friendly face he'd looked at so often over a goban. Balling his hands into fists, he dug his fingernails into his palm.

"It's like you're a god…"

The desire to look was growing greater. He knew it was foolish to think he'd find the person for whom he was hoping, but everything in the voice that floated in the air seemed to strike a chord within him. He recognized the voice: the way the pitch rose slightly at the end, even though he wasn't asking a question; the way the _k_'s were short and clipped; the way he could _hear_ a smile in the words.

Whether it was whom he was looking for or not, the boy wanted satisfaction. He just wanted to see who the speaker was.

"…from high above the board."

The boy turned. His eyes and ears worked in harmony, immediately locating the speaker. His breath stopped short, and tears again sprang to his eyes. "Shindou," he said plainly, none of the emotion that shone on his face making its way into his voice.

Slowly, the speaker raised his head. Next to him was a little girl—a foreigner, she seemed to be, leaning against him, shivering. He and the boy were at least six meters from one another, but their eyes locked. His mouth hung open, and the boy quickly crossed the room, leaving the water on the stove. When less than half a meter separated them, the speaker muttered incredulously, "Touya."

Forgetting where he was, and who he was, and what had happened, Touya fell to his knees and took the speaker's hand. Bringing it to his eyes, the tears began to slide down his cheeks. Soon, he was completely bawling. His body shook, and he let everything go. He didn't even know why he was crying—was it because everything hurt, or was he just so glad to have found this boy?

Shindou's own eyes were overflowing with tears. He slowly brought his free hand up to the boy's shoulder. When his hand met, a flood of emotions rushed through him: relief, melancholy, gratefulness, fear, and hope. He leaned his head against the boy's shoulder—still conscious of the little girl, so careful not to move very much—and let the tears fall freely. "Thank god. Thank god, Touya," he whispered.

Touya tried to say something in return, but he had forgotten how to speak. It didn't matter. Shindou was still alive. There was still hope. All would be okay: he was no longer alone.

At that moment he knew that the future would come. Eventually it would bring him a real smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: In the manga, the Go salon is on the third floor of a rather short building. For the sake of the story, and because it's nowhere near improbable, Touya Meijin has bought the other floors. Yes, he even bought out the blood bank. Because who needs a blood transfusion when they can play Go?<strong>

**I don't have a clue what Hikaru's voice sounds like :/ that's what happens when you don't bother to listen to anime clips as "research" for a story that involves a description of the voice, so please bear with me.**

**What kind of disaster was it? Well, I'll leave that up to your wonderful imagination.**


End file.
